The Code of Slaves
by ancazur
Summary: Vika had never considered what she would do with freedom, for the life of a slave was all she'd known. But an unexpected visitor in the middle of the night forces her to dream of what she never thought to be possible.


Her master didn't understand that her body wasn't built for transporting such cargo. She struggled to keep her wings extended, straining under the weight of the crate clenched in her claws. When she reached the other side of town she released too early, the cargo dropping to the ground with a deafening _thud_.

"You lazy sub-human! Get down here!"

She was ready for the whip before she landed. He didn't even wait for her to unshift before she was wincing, feeling the blood bead across her back.

"What if there was valuable goods in there, eh?" The anger in his voice rose with each crack of the whip. "Next time you won't be so lucky!"

She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the blows to stop, waiting for him to get bored with the punishment. Today's dismissal was a kick to the ribs before he walked away muttering.

Vika didn't have the strength to shift, so she took the slow trudge back to the manse on foot. She could feel beorc eyes on her bloodied back, on the trail of feathers she left in her wake. Children scurried to gather the oversized feathers, bragging that they had a piece of a sub-human. But the adults only stared. It was a rare occasion that she was grateful to return to the manse; at least she could hide from public view.

She had just received extended rights, too, including the privilege to walk the grounds unsupervised. She should have reveled in this last pathetic shred of freedom, but all she wanted was to lie on her stomach and feel a cool breeze on her back. None of the manse's healers would touch her. This was her punishment, she knew; begging was a sign of weakness.

Her master was strong, and he could have transported the cargo himself, but he got a wicked pleasure in giving her impossible orders. Unlike her fellow slaves, she hadn't built up the muscle mass after the years of labor. Though that, she knew, was entirely from lack of trying. While the others did whatever they could to please the master, she was happy doing just what had to be done before retiring for the evening. (Happy was definitely the wrong word, but she wouldn't admit anything but.)

A guard eyed her suspiciously when she passed into the slaves' stairway, but she did not explain her early arrival home. He would be following close enough to see the stripes across her back as they ascended. Vika tried to ignore his lumbering shadow as she took the steps one at a time. Step up, rest. Step up, rest. She did not complain about the walk up; most slaves were kept in dank basements but the master allowed his birds an aerial view. Though this was a taunt as well—you can see it, but you can't go out there.

The guard unlocked her room, stepping aside for her to enter. She had never been so glad to see her tiny quarters, and didn't even mind when the door slammed and locked behind her. There was very little space in the room, enough for only her worn-down mattress and a wooden box holding a change of clothes and some trinkets. She couldn't even remember what the trinkets _were_, never mind their sentimental value. She was not attached to them at all.

Vika had intended to lie down immediately, but she couldn't resist staring out the window first. It was a small sliver of window, definitely not enough to squeeze through, but enough to have a view of the twilit sky. She tried not to envy the laguz who had the freedom of that sky. What was it like, soaring over towns, feeling the wind in your feathers, not being dragged down by cargo or beorc orders?

She winced as she lied down. The straw mattress had crumbled to dust ages ago, but it was marginally better than sleeping on the stone floor. She tucked her wings into her sides. She tried to keep the injuries exposed to the cold air, wishing she had smuggled some salve from the healers. But perhaps the injuries weren't so bad after all, as she had already managed to fall into a lazy half-sleep.

* * *

It felt like mere moments until she woke again, though the darkened sky proved it was the middle of the night. Her sleep had been disturbed by whispers in the hallway. Who would be roaming the slave quarters this time of night? She tried to go back to sleep, but couldn't ignore the distinct sound of something jiggling around in the lock of her door. If it was a guard, it wouldn't have taken him so long to unlock it. But why would he be up there, anyway? More punishment? Her back ached in protest.

The door cracked open, and the hand that appeared was much larger than those belonging to any of the guards. _Much_ larger. She stared wide-eyed at the hand as it evolved into a tightly-bound arm, then a sliver of a blue sleeve, then...

_By the goddess_, she thought, _it's a tiger!_

He wasn't any tiger she recognized and, despite her wounded back, she sat upright and huddled in the corner. Her wings screamed in protest as they pressed against the walls, feathers molting around her.

"She's here," the tiger said, easing into the room. He was big, but he had a kind face. She relaxed a little, but continued to hug her knees.

"Great!" A tiny beorc ducked under the tiger's arm, and she had to clamp her hands over her mouth to stop the screech from emerging.

"Tormod!" the tiger pressed an arm across the tiny beroc's chest, pushing him back. "Hold a moment. She's frightened."

"I'm not fright—"

"It's all right," the tiger said, approaching tentatively. He slowly dropped to one knee, meeting her at eye-level. "We're going to get you out of here." He held out a hand.

Vika stared at that big hand for a moment before accepting it, grimacing in pain as they stood together.

"I am Muarim," he said, "and this is Tormod."

"The... the beorc?"

"He's a good beorc. He's with us."

She glanced at the tiny beorc poking his head into the room, his hands curled around the edge of the door. He didn't look like any of the beorc she had met before and he was small, child-like. "Hello, Tormod."

Tormod grinned widely. "Right! Let's get out of here!"

"Little one, keep your voice down." Muarim sighed and turned back to Vika. "You are injured, correct? Let me see."

Vika was unsure why she trusted this laguz, especially considering his association with the tiny beorc. But she turned around, expecting him to gasp or grunt in disapproval at her wounds, but he said nothing at all. Muarim applied a cool salve to her back; she was surprised by his gentle touch as his fingers worked through her wings. She fluttered them slightly. No sting of pain, no feathers falling out.

"Thank you," Vika said, barely audible. She turned to face him. "I'm sorry, but… who are you? Why are you here?"

"We're the laguz emancipation army!" Tormod said, puffing out his chest. "And we're here to save you!"

She stared at him quizzically. "And... the rest?"

"We have already freed the other slaves," Muarim said. "Now come, quickly."

The hallway was buzzing with ravens and hawks: Her fellow slaves. They all smiled as she joined the throng, while the tiny beorc pushed to the front of the crowd. "Laguz, move out!"

He moved much faster than she thought he would be able to, keeping to the front of a tittering bunch of birds. They passed the guard at the foot of the stairs, who was fast asleep. Drugged, most likely. They took narrow passageway—she never even knew this passage existed—which seemed to last forever, knowing that freedom was on the other side. They could only walk single-file through the dark, keeping a hand on the person in front of them for guidance. Vika's hand was pressed between a set of wings in front of her, and she felt a small pressure on her own back as well. Luckily, the wounds had already healed. What _was_ that solution? She hoped she would have a chance to ask Muarim before they disappeared.

But the closer they got to freedom, the more the anxiety built in her chest. Surely her fellow slaves had homes to return to, or places they fancied to escape when they left the manse. But Vika hadn't considered it. She had no family, no dreams beyond the walls of her tiny room. She never considered what she would do, because she never considered that she would be free.

They finally emerged from the passageway into a courtyard, a cool night breeze whipping through her hair. More guards were hunched over, dozing against the wall.

"Go, go, my friends!" the tiny beorc cried. "You're free!"

"But _quietly_," Muarim added, setting a hand on Tormod's head. It didn't take much convincing for the birds to take to the sky at once, like a black cloud rising into the atmosphere. But Vika couldn't move.

"You, too!" Tormod said, rushing to Vika. "Go! You don't have to be here anymore!"

"Little one, please." Muarim came up behind him, staring steadily at Vika. "Are you all right? Do you require more medicine?" He was already reaching for the pouch at his hip.

"No, no, it's not that." She shook her head. "It's fine, go. I'll be fine."

"Muarim!" Tormod tugged at his arm, but there seemed to be an unspoken communication between them. Muarim nodded slightly as the beorc turned to Vika. "Join the laguz emancipation army! We can always use more help, and the more people we have, the better. All laguz slaves throughout Tellius will be free."

At first Tormod had seemed like a hyperactive, overzealous child, but the determination was set in his features. He stood straight, like he was accustomed to proving himself over and over again. He made his speech, though Vika didn't need much convincing. It seemed an honorable existence, a little dangerous, and she was thrilled by it.

"What is your name?" Muarim asked.

"I'm Vika," she answered. "And I would like to join your army, if it would be all right."

"Yes!" She was alarmed when Tormod hugged her, but placed a hand on his head as he held tight. "We're glad to have you, Vika. Now let's free some slaves!"

"Little one..." But Tormod was already off, dancing his way across the courtyard.

"Is it always so... excitable?" Vika asked.

Muarim couldn't hide his smile. "Yes, unfortunately." They watched Tormod vault over a hedge. "It is an honor to have you. Many hands make light work."

He didn't have to explain. Even though Muarim was a tiger with a naturally large frame, she could always tell who had been in service and who had not. It was not just the muscles: It was the sympathy in his face, his failed attempt to hide the pain when seeing her confined. She admired her skinny arms, her long fingers. Would anyone see the same in her?

"Ready to go?" Muarim asked. But he wasn't looking at her, he was staring across the courtyard at a tiny, red-haired beorc sitting atop a wall, waving.

"How does he _do_ that?" she asked, ruffling her wings, preparing to take flight.


End file.
